Shadowstone
by HawkinsLab
Summary: Long before the days of Urthstripe the Strong, the shrews of the southern stream faced a menace unlike any before, and took on a quest to determine their next leader which would forever be etched in their history. This is that tale, and it is one of family and of friendship. Please review it as it is a faithful heir to the other tales do Redwall and I will update often.
1. Prologue

_**Shadowstone**_

 **A Tale of Redwall**

 _in honor of Brian Jacques, the master_

The Gousssom shrews are off to war,

with our rapiers close to paw.

woe to him will not go

to fight the vermin foe.

Logalog Logalog Log-a-log!

Guosssom shrews must live or die

Free beneath the open sky.

Battle on while we have breath,

With no fear of death.

Logalog Logalog Log-a-log!-

 _battle cry of the Guerrila Union of South Stream Shrews of Mossflower_

 **Prologue**

Fog drifted amid the tall reeds of the swarthy pool, a gentle rolling mist that enveloped almost everything that it touched. Amid the shroud, a single lantern burned and swayed from side to side as the tiny logboat approached the shores of the tiny island.

Those who had made this journey had come for the ceremony like many of their ancestors before, and even as the female shrew hKira stepped onto the sandy shore, she heard the familiar beat of the small drums that the shrews chose to use for this ritual. Her handmaiden, a shorter shrew named Merweather; passed her the ceremonial lantern as they walked up the rocky path but for now Kira kept her eyes on the many of her kin who stood faithfully on either side of the beach.

As she approached the cavern which lay near the mountainous depths of the island, she heard a faint rustling of leaves from within and saw the familiar face of their leader, Log-a-log.

The aged shrew carried a rapier that looked to be bent and carved by the teeth of a serpent and with his one good eye he smiled at his daughter, and gestured for her to sit.

"Kira, my Firstblood, faithful and true. Have you recited the oath of our tribe, the code of the Gousssom?" her father asked as his shaky paw found the rapier in his belt and he drew it.

"Yes; Chief Log-a-log," she answered, as she bowed her head gracefully and he used the rapier to cut the necklace he had worn all his days, dangling the small shiny jewel in her face.

"Then this is your birthright, and your solemn vow. Protect this Blackstone, for it is a sign of your leadership, a sign of our future," Log-a-log told her. Kira took the special jewel and stared at it curiously, a hundred questions running thru her head as the ceremony continued. Her aged mother doused her with the waters of the Great Inland Sea and then the younger shrews began to sing in harmony the oath to wage battle on those who would do their tribe harm.

As the song continued the older members of the shrew tribe joined in and gathered at the mouth of the cave, now almost a hundred strong singing in harmony the battle cry of their ancestors.

Once the melody had finished, her father raised his aged staff that had kept him upright and declared, "Let the celebration begin!"

The younger of the tribe rushed past Log-a-Log to head for the cellars that ran deep in the island crevices to prepare the feast while the older gossiped amongst themselves about all of the changes their great tribe had gone thru in so many generations.

Kira and Merweather were guided toward a secret chamber behind the chief's room, a long row of tomes and volumes that detailed the history of the Gousssom and her father said in a solemn tone, "Now this is yours to protect, my daughter. You will make our legacy even stronger."

She said nothing as she walked about the room and ran her paw along the dusty volumes, unsure where to begin. Then she touched the Blackstone which hung on her neck and asked, "Father, why do we use this stone as part of our sacred rite?"

The aged Log-a-Log narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to recall some ancient story and then muttered, "It is tradition, Kira. It keeps our tribe safe."

"But... we did face off against the deadly savages from the north. And what about the famine during the last winter?" Kira asked, making her father even more distressed.

"We cannot question our tradition! The stone is what makes us Gousssom, now come! We must enjoy the feast prepared in your honor," he said as he left the archives. Kira looked toward her handmaiden who seemed lost in thought as well and then the two of them followed behind, walking toward the cellars of the island.

A banquet table made of the finest wood from Mossflower had been brought in for the feast, and as the female shrew entered the room she smelt a waft of amazing aromas dance thru the room.

Candied chestnuts sat in a bowl near rows of shrewbread, the famous hearty bread making her mouth instantly water as she saw the shrew cooks bringing in bottles of huckleberry wine and baskets of steamed turnips. Cabbage and diced beets were served as the main dish and for dessert she caught a scent of her mother's infamous barley cake and scones.

Spiced bread and hazelnuts were on the other end of the table as she was encouraged to take the seat her father normally took the lead, and as she did so the room fell silent; clearly waiting for her to make a speech.

Kira looked at the throng of shrews that she had called family for ages and then smiled, raising her glass of sweet elderroot tea and told them all, "Let us feast toward a new generation!" The crowd went wild and began to tear into the food as she sat there and watched them, her mind still on the necklace her father had given her.

She glanced across the room toward a small group of elderly shrews that often cared for her and many other dibbuns as children, the ladies gossiping and cheerfully devouring portions of the cake that she had been tempted to eat too and decided that if she was going to learn the answer, they would know.

Walking over toward the shrewmaidens, Kira smiled toward her elders and bowed respectfully as they all looked toward her. "My my, I dunnit believe we has ever had a prettier Log-a-Log. That tis for sure," one of them said with a hearty laugh.

"Ye must be blind. I remember Rucco in his day was a fine lookin' shrew," another answered. "An' what about Log-a-Log Brigsby? Now that was a fine strong chieftain!" another added.

"Miladies," Kira said interrupting them before they could continue their argument. "I loved your tales as a child. I wonder if you might be able to tell me one more?" she asked as she removed the Blackstone and showed it to them.

"Ye wish to know the story of our Kin's first fight?" One shrewmaiden asked as she held the stone, feeling its smooth surface.

"Yes; how did we come to be the strong Gousssom we are today?" Kira wondered. "A fine leader ye will be to learn such a tale," another added. "The Shadowstone was not always with us," the first remarked.

"The Shadowstone?" Kira repeated as she took a seat alongside the aged shrews.

"It was before de days of Urthstripe the Strong, before our kin fought the Deepcoiler and solved the mystery of the White Ghost. Mossflower was dangerous territory back then, and none were as dangerous as the weasel Selah Falsetooth!" The First shrewmaiden told her as she settled in and they lit a candle, it's light reflecting off the dark stone as the tale began.


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

The moon glowed a gruesome dark orange in the clear sky, as though it's face were bathed in the innocent blood of the dozens that had been slain that night on the last ship of the once powerful vermin raiders, the _Foxwolf_.

Standing over top her latest victim, Selah Falsetooth wiped fresh blood from her snout and reared back her head, laughing wickedly. Only a few still remained that had not participated in the mutiny. She held her long sharp javelin against her lanky body as two rats took the body of their slain comrade and placed it near the pile that stunk the whole port side of the vessel.

Her hatred now sated for the moment, the tall female weasel glared toward the cowering group of rats, ermine and minks that were aboard her torn and ragged ship, each of them looking to be near starvation as she waved her javelin toward their frightened faces.

"Let these be an example to the rest of you! To those who say we should return to the southwestern shores, to those who question my leadership! I am Selah Falsetooth and you will regret that folly the moment it reaches your heart," the weasel said as she showed her gruesome teeth.

Of all her fangs, most of them were natural save for the two that she had near the front, using the finest sapling glue made by squirrel raiders, the dangerous weasel had conquered a mighty serpent during their journey across the Western Sea, and pried the fangs from the venomous creature to use as her personal weapon of torture for any who disobeyed her.

The group didn't say a word as she stormed thru them, waving her powerful javelin about. "Perhaps this is why I left my kin to begin with! Because of soft and weak fools like you! Do you wish to go back and die alongside the others in the southern kingdom? To be swallowed up by the badger's bloodwrath like our vermin brethren?" Selah asked.

One of her Captains, a scrawny looking rat named Behaziel, looked toward her with only a little fear in his eyes and declared, "Lady Selah, we know your strength. We know that you have left behind family and children in order to lead us to victory. But the words we spoke were not of treachery but concern. Some of us barely survived the battle of Castle Floret when we were babes. We remember the battle cries of Urgan Nagru and his lady Silvamord. We have seen enough battle for ten seasons, and we simply wish to know when this glorious victory will be."

"You joined me to find victory? You believe that I can lead you to a better life?" Selah asked in shock as she pointed her javelin toward the rat's chin. "Yes... milady," Behaziel said, unsure how the wild weasel would react. "Then you should close your mouth before I sew it shut," Falsetooth snarled, walking back toward the front of the ship.

The tall female weasel cleaned off her snake fangs as she looked toward the eastern horizon and remarked, "My husband, wild fool that he is; would think our lives should be spent fighting badgers and taking their spoils. But I have no interest in treasures that will age and decay, nor a desire to be torn apart by those crazed beasts. My vision lies further east, Far from any life we ever knew."

"Perhaps if you shared this vision... it would allay the worries of the crew?" another rat Captain, this one named Revaret; said as the ship rocked back and forth in the night air.

Selah looked toward them again, seeing their worry and concern and for a moment softened; recalling the hard journey they had made from the southwestern shores.

She nodded in acceptance of their request before declaring, "Tomorrow at dawn. Vargas the Soothsayer will speak of the prophecy that led us here."

They all seemed pleased with this response as some of them had only heard the aged ferret speak a few words since they had stolen the _Foxwolf_. But each time he spoke it was filled with meaning and purpose.

Selah looked toward the corpses that her faithful crew had slain and smiled ruthlessly, a devious plan developing as she excused herself to the bowels of the mighty vessel.

The _Foxwolf_ was a fine ship in its day before the Wars, built by the paws of mole slaves trained to be mindless savages it was a testament to what the mighty vermin of the southwest had once been. With three mighty masts and a trove of weapons meant to be used by at least a hundred strong rats, Selah knew that their path to a bright future was all but inevitable.

And nothing secured that in her mind more than to speak with the Mad Seer, her oldest ally, Vargas.

In the darkened galley of the ship, she used her nimble claws to open a locker storeroom where the male ermine sat and constantly scratched at his wounds that covered his arms, the fur falling off from the fact that he had not seen light in almost two seasons.

The ermine was covered with similar sores across his chest and neck, a reminder to any that although he was gifted to see into the future it had also driven him mad. His green eyes looked up toward his master as she entered and he tried to get up and escape, falling to the floorboard in front of Selah due to the shackles on his leg.

"Vargas, my faithful seer; you would be without wisdom to test my patience right now," she snarled, slamming the javelin down next to his scarred face.

The ermine stood back up, covering his wounded body with a sackcloth as he looked toward the darkness, waiting for Selah to explain why she had chose to visit now.

"The crew has grown restless, they feel I have gone off course from the path you set before us, from the call you hear in your endless dreams," the weasel explained as she walked closer to the Mad Seer.

"I have chosen to let you speak the words you told me four seasons ago, of the great sea that is trapped amid trees, and of our glorious victory over the northern mountains," Selah added causing the feral ermine to give the shadow of a smile.

"A future spoken in proverbs will only be fulfilled by those faithful to its words," Vargas answered as he returned to scratching his wounds.

"Calm yourself, my friend. They will trust you once they realize what spoils await us in the mountains," Selah added as she looked toward some of the food that he had eaten over the last season, only a few dried beets and moldy pieces of bread along with bones from caught fish and birds scattered across the floor.

"And what of the threats I also foresaw? The river spawn that could drown us all?" Vargas asked.

"You will speak only what is necessary to strengthen their faith. Nothing else. Let me handle those who would stand in our way," she said as she licked her long false fangs.

"You would have me lie to those who follow you?" The Mad Seer asked.

"A lie is only a lie if you never mention the truth," Selah replied as she passed him a few turnips that she had saved for herself. "Now is not the time to mention all of our journey, only that which will keep them from tearing each other to ribbons," Falsetooth snarled as she got up from the table Vargas was chained to.

Eagerly the Mad Seer ripped into the turnips as she hastened to leave and locked the door behind her. Vargas would need all his strength to speak his prophecy to those on the _Foxwolf_. And so would she, Selah thought as she retired to her quarters for the night.

XXXXXXXXX

Dawn came to the Western Sea before the first seagulls crested the sky, the long stern of the _Foxwolf_ bobbing slowly as the wind barely started to fill its sails. Reveret was commanding the mole slaves that still lived on the bottom floor of the vessel, using his thick reed whip to lash against their backs and force them to row, chained to the deck for days the moles barely had the strength to even cry out in pain.

Up on the main deck Behaziel was rallying the other Captains to the front of the ship where Selah had chosen to dress in more fashionable attire, a pelt made of spider silk and feathers from a caught gull, a breast plate of silver and copper stolen from a mighty badger Lord and a helmet fitted from the skull of a fish, that made the weasel look even more fearsome than usual.

To her side, the Mad Seer looked toward the cloudless sky and the sun as though they were foreign objects that had only been spoken of to him in legend, his legs chained to the deck near the first mast as Selah rallied the crew to hear his words.

"My vermin brethren! You asked for reassurance toward the path we have chosen for ourselves. Now you will listen to my Seer, to your prophet," Selah Falsetooth shouted out, her voice echoing off the sea waters as the crew gathered near to where the corpses of their brethren still lay on the port side, stinking up the fresh morning air.

Vargas seemed to be waiting for silence to fall upon the crew as a small amount of drool dropped from his foaming mouth, finally ready to proclaim his vision.

" _A forest as wide as the ocean covers a fertile land._

 _There the Falsetooth will find servants of the night, twisted to the ways of the wild. Trapped by the trees lies a sea sprawling and deep, with treasures to last a lifetime._

 _Across barren rocks she will wage war on the hidden caves, and find her way amid the thorns._

 _As blood soaks up the soil she will find a burial place for all that betray her and a sacred oath will be made toward the creatures of the night._

 _There across countless streams the Falsetooth will make good her promise of vengeance and reward, a stone will be cast. And a song of victory will echo across the valley._ "

Behaziel and the other Captains looked at each other in shock, surprised by the words the Mad Seer had spoken and another Captain, a mink named Nazier barked, "As we live for the Falsetooth so too will we die!" The others chanted this as well and Selah smiled showing her dangerous artificial fangs to the assembled.

"Begging your patience milady," Behaziel said as the chanting continued, "But the crew was wondering, what do we do as far as rations go? It is still another three days journey to the shorelines I am sure of it as sure as your Seer sees this prisoned Lake."

Selah looked at him, frustrated that her rat captain still doubted her and then gazed toward the slain that were beginning to decay and declared, "I have provided you food, the finest a warrior could ask for. To eat the flesh of ones own brethren will provide you their strength, their life force will become yours."

Behaziel looked toward the dead vermin that he had helped kill the night before, the thought of eating seeming repugnant to him and she snarled, "Command Your Soldiers to eat, Captain! Let them feel the power of death itself!"

Hesitantly the crew turned toward the corpses, and then Selah turned her back on them as they ripped apart flesh from bone, their hunger overpowering the strangeness of her orders.

"A powerful force will rise from this bloodshed, but will you be able to control it when the other parts of my vision come true?" Vargas snarled as several mute monks guided the chained ermine back to his prison.

"I will kill them all if means finding that blessed stone you saw in your dreams," Selah said, her false fangs gleaming as the sound of the unholy feast continued behind her.


	3. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

Nothing touched the water save for a gentle morning breeze as the shrew brought his logboat to the edge of the river, staring out toward the branching paths and taking in the wonderful smells of autumn.

According to a traveling mouse merchant from the nearby Abbey, the Season was going to be one of plenty for all who had endured the Summer of the Long Heat and the young brown shrew was certain that he would make the most of it by catching as many fresh fish as possible from the River Moss.

A few bugs buzzed across the surface of the river as he placed his logboat into its cool lapping waves and then he climbed in and grabbed the small tools he intended to use for the morning catch: a net made of tea leaves and maple sap and a few sharp knives cut from rocks he had found farther north on the edge of the tributary.

As he prepared to push the boat into the water he heard the faint rustling of leaves from the surrounding forest and took out of one of the long pikes from his satchel, unsure what could be approaching.

His older brother walked out from the tall grass eating a bite of a fresh autumn plum, wiped his face and then looked toward the logboat with an impish smile.

"Off to catch the Deepcoiler are you Malen?" The older shrew asked as he approached the river edge, wiping his paws off on the small tunic he wore.

"Very funny Dargen, you know Father would have my head if I even went further south then the tribe lines let alone the Inland Sea," Malen told him as Dargen got aboard. "Well I can't have you daydreaming and drifting off, so make way for a fellow Fisher my brother dear!" Dargen ordered, pushing the logboat away from shore before his younger brother could object.

As the small boat traveled down the river, Malen looked over the edge toward the clear waters searching for a small char or pond smelt.

"You couldn't wait for the first day of autumn to come out here could you?" Dargen asked softly as he looked on the opposite side of the boat.

"We are meant to be out here on the water, brother. Not wasting our seasons becoming nursemaids to those shrew dibbuns like Damaste and Corriander," he countered as he tried to grab at a char that swam by in a flash.

"You make it sound like our siblings have menial labor to tend to like sweeping the harvest cellars or something! Malen, everybeast in the Guosssom has a job, how often do we have to remind you of that?" Dargen asked as he grabbed a chub with his bare paws.

The fish flopped a bit on the bow of the boat as he struggled to maintain his grip and then it flew from his paws splashing Dargen as it disappeared from sight. Malen chuckled as he looked at his drenched older brother and remarked, "I guess it's a good thing Father didn't make you a fisher."

The elder shrew glared at him as they waded toward another branch of the river, still searching for fresh fish but Malen's thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.

Since he had been a babe he recalled the tales that Log-a-Log Summo had told of the fights on the western shores near the fabled Salamandastron, of adventure and untold dangers and it had made him imagine himself one day taking up the call to protect Mossflower. As a member of the Guerilla Union of South Stream Shrews of Mossflower, he had taken an oath when he was barely twelve seasons old the same one his six older brothers and sisters had made when they were that age; to protect the tribe of the Guosssom and to keep the law of the tribe for all his days.

But the tribe itself was still young, there were still a great many quarrels as to how the role of leader was to take place. Log-a-log Summo, the First shrew to leave the Guosim of the north, had established a simple code during the days of Rawnstripe: that the firstborn of his kin would be made Log-a-log and protect the tribe until the next generation.

But now, new circumstances had changed that dynamic specifically the inter marriages of the two shrew tribes. And with seven sons, their father couldn't simply allow one to take the lead amongst the others. Especially not Esperol, their oldest kin who had what seemed to be an insatiable desire to go and hunt vermin that sometimes scoured the Mossflower forest.

As for Malen, he didn't even care to worry about the code or becoming leader. As youngest that prospect had never even come up in his mind. Esperol, Dargen, Alfoh, Corriander, Damaste and Rufe could waste their days trying to please their father so they could be the next Log-a-Log, he thought as the autumn sun glistened across the river surface. My place is here amid nature.

Suddenly his older brother pushed him aside and skewered a large white chub in the river bed with one of his pikes laughing heartily as he did and waving the fallen fish in front of his younger kin before announcing, "Now who is the one who shouldn't be a fisher?"

Malen laughed and got the net ready, while Dargen quickly gutted the fish before this one tried to flop away. The fresh fish smelled delightful but Malen knew better than to take it all for himself, the shrew tribe of the Guosssom depended on their harvest and one small chub certainly wasn't going to feed very many hungry mouths.

Over the Summer of the Long Heat the shrew recalled how the tribe had used up a great deal of their foodstuff reserves because of the dry soil making it hard to grow very many vittles. The shrews however had grown by at least a dozen or so dibbuns and that meant more hungry mouths to feed. Malen had known far too many long summer days where he had chosen to give up his hotroot soup or hazelnut bread for a newborn and then spent his evening searching the surrounding area for fresh berries or maybe even a few latespring raspberries to mix with some barley and make a fine stew. But there were other times during the rough summer he had gone hungry, all for the needs of the tribe. It was a sacrifice he was sure that he would have to make again when winter came, but for now Malen wasn't going to allow such thoughts to ruin his mood.

As he and his brother continued to fish in the great river, he found himself whistling a gentle tune and Dargen started to chime in with a simple little diddy.

"Out here Amon' the fishes

That is where I wishes

To spend all me days!

If I could go all de way,

To the edge of the Endless bay,

That would be just fine by me!

So keep my net full,

And keep my days from bein' dull

Let's go a huntin' to the farthest shore

Cause this shrew is a hunter!

That's fer sure.

And if I could spend all me days

Amid the watery ways

That would be just fine

Yes that would be just dandy!

Cause fish tastes better than candy!

So keep my net full

And my days from bein' dull

Cause this shrew is seekin' adventure

And won't nothin' keep it from me!"

Dargen laughed heartily as they caught several more chum and a few char on the north river bank and then turned the logboat toward the mossy shore, the morning ending with their net quite full.

Malen and his eldest brother grabbed the bounty and trekked toward the inner marshlands that were marked as part of their tribe's territory.

The morning meal filled the air of the tall grass as they pushed thru to the first hollowed trunks where he saw Alfoh and a young female shrew he fancied performing guard duty in the early Light.

Fresh loaves of shrew bread, slices of barley cakes, and warm hazelnut soup reached his nose as they walked into the camp of the Gousssom and already Malen could see the other members of his family running about and tending to their daily jobs.

He spotted his eldest brother Esperol approaching the edge of camp with his fellow shrew warriors off to perform morning patrol, the burly shrew looking like every bit of a water bound warrior.

"Morning brothers, did you bring me the morning catch?" Esperol asked as he grabbed the net from Malen before his younger brother could object.

Esperol licked his lips as he greedily grabbed three fish from the bag and then tossed one to his first archer and gobbled up the others himself.

"Brother that was meant for the morning feast!" Dargen snarled angrily.

"Look around! The feast has already begun and a few measly fish won't tide over those hungry dibbuns. Besides you'll just go catch some more eh bro?" Esperol asked as he rubbed the fur on Malen's head the wrong way.

Malen sighed and took the net back with the other fish, he and Dargen walking away from the patrol as Esperol laughed, still savoring the fish that he stolen for breakfast.

This season is going to be a long one, Malen thought as he walked toward the burrows which led to the kitchen.


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

Esperol watched his younger brothers for a moment as they walked further into the shrew camp, shaking his head and wondering how it could be possible that his father had raised such softheaded fools.

While they are busy fattening their bellies and dreaming of some far off land I spend my days earning my birthright, he thought as he checked to be certain all his archers had full quivers.

This is why I am the one father will choose as the New Log-a-log he reasoned as he sharpened his rapier and walked toward the Watchtower where his brother was supposed to be handling morning guard.

Instead of spotting his brother however Esperol only saw an empty nest atop the oak and he used his reed staff to wrap against the hollowed Watchtower, causing his brother to jump up and almost fall out to the ground.

Alfoh looked down, his face plastered with fresh kisses from his girlfriend and waved happily toward Esperol. The eldest shrew only glared in return as he commanded, "Get your sorry tail down here now!"

Alfoh and his girlfriend, a pretty young shrew maid named Ciana rushed to the bottom of the tower, trembling in fear of the punishment Esperol might give them. But instead he merely whacked his brother on the head before snarling, "What is the point of being a guard if you are too busy smooching?"

"Sorry brother, it won't happen again," Alfoh answered to which he nodded as he looked toward the maid and said, "You are Lucky I don't report you both. A horde of wildcats could have besieged us all!"

Alfoh tried to resist a laugh causing Esperol to glare at him and snarl, "And what prey tell brother is so funny?"

"Brother you have to realize that we haven't had any trouble with raiders or vermin for seasons now! Not since the days of the early Guosim!" Alfoh answered back.

"And I suppose you think all the vermin gave up and tucked in their tails to flee to the lands of ice and snow?" The burly shrew snarled as he whacked his brother on the head again.

"It's my fault Esperol, I kept him from his duties," Ciana said in a guilty tone. She placed her head down to be berated as well but the male knew better than to irk His brother into a fight. Nothing made Alfoh more furious than when his damsel was in distress he realized.

"There is enough fault on both of you. Now go enjoy the breakfast and try to avoid this in the coming days," Esperol snapped, swaying his rapier for them to run off like frightened pups.

His first archer, a stout shrew named Keldan snickered at the young couple and remarked, "Young Love will get ye in trubble every tim Esp'r."

The burly shrew in charge of the patrol raised his nose up and scoffed, gesturing for his archers to follow him toward Mossflower. "We've already wasted half the sunrise!" He bellowed as they marched out of the tribe territory.

XXXXXXX

The Guosssom patrol was a fairly straightforward job in of itself if the shrews who took up the task were familiar with the lay of the land. For Esperol, he had been amongst the tall grass, wild barley and thick forests of Mossflower since he had been a dibbun so he could easily trek thru the winding paths without even having to pause or look back.

The others on this patrol were still mostly wet behind the ears, using maps made either by their ancestors or traded for olive bread and turnip cheese to moles that lived a tad north of their borders. Either way, the routine would be embedded in their minds by the time the season was out, the burly shrew reasoned as he followed the Great South Stream toward the first branching tributary.

Since it was the first of a new season, the eldest shrew of Log-a-log knew the first task would be to check the traps that were hidden among the thick wetlands on their south border, so he raised his paw and gestured for the archers to circle the main group of warriors while he and first command, Kelden; looked at the pits that had been dug up last spring.

Since the summer had been especially harsh, none of them had been checked and Esperol knew that if any vermin had been foolhardy enough to come close to the territory of the Guosssom, it would be their last fatal mistake. The pits had been dug deep by young and strong shrews with moles to help when the bickering started or they needed guidance with a particularly nasty plot of soil. So any who fell into them over the summer will be rotting bones now, he thought as he moved toward the first trap.

Covered with branches of pine and mossy residue, it appeared that nothing had settled near this particular pit and he frowned in disappointment gesturing for his archers to follow him toward the west.

"We'll cross where the stream is shallow toward Ninian's. There are a few deeper valleys amid the hills of the forest there, perfect lairs for marauders," he told them all as he glanced toward his first archer who was devouring a bite of their turnip cheese and celery bread.

Snatching it out of Kelden's paws, the eldest shrew glared at him and remarked gruffly, "Do I have to treat you all like babes? This food is for our luncheon! Imagine how easily the enemy could come upon us if you were lethargic by mid morning!"

"Sorry Esp'r," the stout older shrew said as he wiped his paws and followed the group toward the stream once more.

Thanks to the especially dry summer heat, portions of the stream that they normally had to use log boats to cross now could be traversed by foot so Esperol led the way to the western hills of Mossflower, his eyes ever searching the surrounding treetops for signs of raiders.

Even birds have been known to be violent after long bouts without vittles, he reasoned as he heard the faint cry of a lark in the distance.

Again he raised his paw to halt the archers as he listened intently to the woods, realizing that there was in fact something rustling above and he snarled, "Archers! At attention!"

Kelden was hastily by his side as the other shrews heeded his warning and the aged shrew asked, "Yer ears are bet'r than mine Esp'r. What it be?"

"Rats, or lizards… maybe even skinks," he said worriedly as he grabbed a fistful of arrows and loaded his own bow.

All of the shrews looked about the canopy for any sign of the noise that Esperol had tuned in on, but for the moment none were quite certain where it was coming from. One thing was for certain though, they were being watched.

Another snap of a branch to his left made Kelden jump and fire an arrow aimlessly, causing the leader of the patrol to shake his head in wonderment. What ever happened to the strong shrews of the north tribe before we split off? Esperol listened intently as he tried to get a good look at who the spy might be, but still the creature evaded them, leaping from tree to tree without even a flicker of fur being detectable.

The eldest shrew raised his bow and drew back the string to aim toward the tree line, waiting and listening as the noise grew fainter and then stopped. The onlooker believed that they had chosen not to pursue. Again Esperol let an arrow fly, and this time the response came with the chunking of a stone.

"Over there!" he told his archers who all tried to target the elusive woodlander. Whoever this is has had quite some time to familiarize themselves with this forest, Esperol realized as he again prepared his own weapon and then let it sling out.

This time his aim was true as he heard a soft noise like a sharp yell and Kelden and the other shrew archers cheered excitedly when they heard something fall from the trees in the distance.

"Stay back, it might be dangerous," Esperol advised his warriors as he drew out his rapier and trudged thru muddy trickles of water toward where their spy had fallen. Searching amid the sticks and thick leaves, the shrew tried to find any evidence of their quarry and then paused overtop a small inclined hillside; his heart sinking.

There at the bottom of the hill lie the twisted body of a young squirrel, perhaps no older than Malen and instantly he realized they had mistook him for a vermin.

Running down the hill he looked at where the arrow had pierced the young squirrel's side, his mind racing as he tried to find some nearby moss or soft soil to tend to the wound. Why hadn't he alerted us to his presence in the first place? Esperol angrily thought as he struggled to remove the arrow, only to realize that by doing so the squirrel was bleeding out even more.

As he tried to determine what to do, the shrew recognized that the squirrel had little chance of surviving so he spared him the fate of a slow death and leaned forward, snapping the squirrel's neck with a quick twist.

He stood there for a moment, haunted by the mistake he had just made and removed the arrow, looking at the fresh blood he angrily tossed it aside toward the thick grass.

A clamor of feet approached from the east and he looked up to see his shrew archers arriving, each of them shocked by the scene of the fallen squirrel. Esperol soon realized though that none of them were aware of what had truly killed the young lad.

"The vermin got away and did this?" Kelden asked fearfully. Esperol looked toward his first archer, wondering how many others also believed this version of events and nodded grimly declaring, "Let us give the young lad a proper burial before we go."

A few of the younger patrol members tended to the body, lifting it from the inclined hill and found a small hollow near the base of a great pine to cover him.

Esperol listened as the shrews chanted a death song of mourning, one intended for a stranger and could not help but feel the sting of guilt as he wondered how much of the avenging dirge would apply to him.

O hills of Mossflower country,

They be filled with grief tonight.

For on this peaceful day,

A stranger found the light.

They didn't know the dangers

They didn't see the signs.

We did not know their name

Or any of their blood line.

They died afore we met em

They died before their prime.

Stranger, though we did not know ye

And though you met such a fate.

The Guosssom shrews will find the ones

Who killed ye before ye became great.

So watch your backs to those fiends,

Who would kill an innocent one!

The Guosssom shrews will never stop

Until your days too are done!


	5. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

Beneath the great birch in the hollows of the surrounding roots, the wonderful smells of the First autumn feast were enough to make the two shrews that worked in the nursery salivate.

"What I wouldn't give for a slice of mama's famous celery cakes right now," Damaste moaned as he rubbed his belly, trying to calm it down.

"Forget desserts, all I want is a fine beetroot stew with truffles," his brother Corriander remarked as he hushed another irritable babe.

"These pups will never stay still when such fine vittles be cooking," Damaste realized as he heard footsteps approach and looked toward the door to see their younger sibling Rufe appear with a basket of fresh parsley scones and wheat biscuits.

"Our savior has arrived!" Corriander said excitedly, forgetting for a moment his task to keep the nursery calm as the bread was brought to them.

"Steward Dorsbe told me there were two starving dibbuns down here. But if I had known it was you two knuckleheads I might not've come," Rufe commented dryly as Damaste snatched the basket from his paws.

"These morning baths and cleanings are the worst. Malen was right when he said this was an assignment meant for handmaidens," Corriander said as he gobbled down a biscuit.

"My aren't we a tad sexist?" Damaste asked with a laugh as they walked out of the nursery to the next chamber, a small tunnel that connected the burrows to the larger root cellars.

"What? I know father says we should be learning all the traits of a good leader but I don't see how soothing a crying pup to nap and cleaning his fur every morning is going to put us in the running to be Log-a-log," Corriander pointed out. Rufe and how other brother seemed to share the sentiment and even the younger shrew commented, "None of us will have a chance if Esperol has his way."

"Well no use lamenting about it boys, we're probably going to be on nursemaid for the foreseeable future. Might as well just face it!" Corriander chuckled as he finished his last biscuit.

"Speaking of dibbuns needing their tails wiped, Father said he wanted to see you right away Corriander," Rufe told him to which the middle shrew glared at his brother for making such a remark about their father.

Sneaking another bite in as he walked up the burrows to the widening dormitory of the shrew tribe, Corriander looked down across the mighty hall of the Guosssom and tried to imagine how his father handled being leader of so many shrews.

Even now as he rounded another tunnel he could hear constant bickering and fighting amongst both young and old and it gave him a headache. Growing up with six other brothers had never been easy but Corriander was definitely glad they had all started to get some sense after their dibbun days.

Reaching the chambers of the shrew chieftain, the middle shrew wrapped on the door softly and waited for some kind of response, only to find that none had come. In a panic he rushed into the room to see if his father was all right, relieved to see that the older shrew had simply been sleeping.

As he stood at the foot of his fathers bed he reached for an old lantern filler with red moss and lit it to give the chamber a little more light and get a better look at his aging father.

The elderly shrew opened his weak eyes and looked toward his middle child, unable to see him clearly the chieftain asked, "Alfoh? Is that you?"

"It's Corriander Father," he told him as he helped the shrew to sit up and cough gently. "Corriander? What are ye doing here?" Log-a-log asked.

The younger shrew sighed as he walked over to where his father kept his glasses and walking cane, realizing that the elderly shrew's condition was getting worse and worse each day.

Since they had endured a tough winter, Log-a-log had suffered from a constant cough and weakness that Hewitt their healer had attributed to both his age and the sicknesses that had passed thru all Mossflower at that time. And from where he stood now, looking at the frail form of a once mighty warrior Corriander knew that his father didn't have much longer.

But still the chieftain refuses to accept that and delayed any sort of announcement regarding his successor, he thought. Everybeast in the tribe knew Esperol was the obvious choice but his father seemed only to become irritable when talking about his eldest brother.

He passed the cane to the elderly shrew as they walked across to the basin on the other side of the room, Log-a-log took each step carefully as Corriander remarked, "Have you been eating the vittles that Rufe brings you?"

"Bah! That sour stalk soup and beetle barley is meant for dibbuns! I want ye and Malen to go out and catch some good char again!" The chief barked as he washed his face. Corriander didn't bother reminding him that he had only a few teeth left, none of which were sharp.

"What if I got you some of the gooseberry ale you like? That would help wash it down and calm your stomach," Corriander suggested.

"Humph," Log-a-log growled reluctantly as he went over to the night stand where mama had left the food.

He poured some of the ale into a small goblet and passed it to his father before stating, "You have to keep your strength up. There is after all only one of you."

The chieftain tried his best to chew the food, coughing a few times before he finally rested his head on the feathery pillow.

"You are a good boy, Alfoh. I wish your brothers were more like you," his father told him and this time Corriander didn't bother correcting him.

Once he made certain that his father was comfortable he left the room and sighed, feeling the weight of this burden heavy on his soul. Besides us seven brothers the only one even aware of Log-a-log's health was the shrew healers.

And they had taken a solemn oath not to speak a word of his illness to the tribe for fear of panic. Although the whole assembly was nearly five hundred strong, all of them depended on the leadership of their chieftain to keep them from falling into the old bickering ways of other shrew tribes.

We are Guosssom. We should be better than this he thought as he made a mental note to ask Hewitt and Renatte about getting more of the fine spurred mushroom tonic that had helped his father during the long summer.

And to talk to his older brothers of the needs for them to determine who the next Log-a-log would be.

XXXXX

By midday Damaste had managed to finish all of his morning chores and settle down in the great birch hollow to enjoy some of the second catch of fresh chum that Malen and Dorgen had caught up river.

Tearing into the broiled fish, the middle shrew could not help but to realize that he was quite famished from cleaning the cellars, lighting all of the tunnel lanterns, sweeping the dormitory and scrubbing the kitchen.

He only paused from his meal to guzzle down a goblet of hot radish tea. His youngest brother Malen merely watched in astonishment as he remarked, "You must have chosen to fast all summer long the way you are eating brother."

Ignoring his brothers teasing he commented, "This is a fine bounty, Malen. Did you find all of these in the southern branches?"

"Dorgen was with me and we took the twisting branch toward the Great Inland Sea," Malen said as he watched his brother's reaction. "You need not worry. We didn't go anywhere near the mouth of that great water."

"I wish I had your spirit of recklessness Malen. Maybe I wouldn't be stuck in here tending to babes all day," he moaned.

A strong pat on his back startled the shrew as Alfoh joined them alongside his girlfriend and his older brother commented, "Don't you know that the ladies go crazy when a guy can handle themselves around dibbuns?"

The two started to pour themselves some of the nearby bark wine as Malen commented, "Is that your plan once you get married, Alfoh? Have a tribe of shrew babes for yourself?"

"Oh I'm sure we will have a dozen at least, all girls," Ciana said dreamily causing her boyfriend to nearly choke on his drink. "I guess that's something we need to discuss," he said nervously. Damaste shook his head and laughed as he looked toward the sunlight that crept thru the hollow birch, realizing his lunch was almost over and it would be back to chores.

"Maybe you can get a word in toward father about letting me join you at the nets, Malen," he suggested with a weary smile even as they all heard a commotion toward the outer borders of the tribe territory.

"What's all that noise?" Alfoh asked. Malen finished up his bite of artichoke bread and muttered, "The drums of the Guosssom archers. Something must have happened while they were on patrol.." Instantly the brothers jumped up and followed the crowd outside of the birch to see what the alert was about.

Esperol was standing near the small stove dais that they used during outside festivals and looked toward his brothers grimly, causing Damaste and the others to wonder what had happened during their first autumn patrol.

"Guosssom! I bring dreadful news from the Western reaches of our mighty stream. My archers and I encountered a dangerous vermin this morning," Esperol announced causing muttered of shock to ripple thru the crowd.

Malen tugged at his older brother's tunic and whispered, "Shouldn't we have brought this to the attention of father first?"

"The vermin managed to escape, and he will likely be returning to others who will now be aware of our territory," Esperol explained calmly as he said in a stern voice, "There was no time to debate about it."

Turning back to the assembly their eldest brother added, "We're going to start training more warriors over the next few days. My brother Dorgen will be in charge of sword combat and Rufe will handle defensive techniques. And no children should be allowed to leave the tribe borders. Not until we are certain that the threat has passed."

Damaste approached his brother, frightened but also eager to help he asked, "How can I help Esperol?"

The other shrew glanced at him and then toward Alfoh before deciding, "You two can switch assignments for a while. Maybe Alfoh will learn some sense once he has washed and cleaned a few dozen shrew babes."

The group of shrews quickly went about their assignments as the day stretched on, each of them trying to ignore the worry and the danger that might lurk just beyond their borders.


	6. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

By the third evening after the slaughter of his crewmates, the wind had carried the massive vermin warship toward the shores of the western rocks further than even the Mad Seer had anticipated. From his view in the crow's nest Behaziel could almost see the first signs of a rich and vast country.

Now as the evening light faded from the ship and the gulls finished chewing on the bones of their fallen comrades, Behaziel could only imagine what the next day would bring in regard to their first steps in the new land.

The rat mostly was looking forward to the foods that they might get to feast on whether it was herb salad or birch wood and turnip stew, his hunger for a real meal could not possibly be described in words.

It still sickened him to realize what depravity he had partook in only a few days ago because of being so close to starvation. To eat the flesh of another crew mate was enough to make him want to cast himself overboard. But he had swallowed his pride and done as Selah ordered, Perhaps out of fear or starvation he wasn't quite sure which.

Since Vargas had made his proclamation both he and Selah had not been seen above deck, instead forcing their Captains the task of tending to the ship as they crossed the sea.

Behaziel had no doubt in his mind that the weasel and the ferret were likely finishing off the last of the foodstuffs that had stolen, greedily keeping such for themselves while forcing their crew to suffer.

It made his own stomach twist in knots when he considered how if they were still back home on the shores of the southwestern lands that he would likely be forging himself on a meal fit for kings. Thoughts of Gooseberry wine, steamed turnips and beets and roasted radish frape danced thru his mind as he looked down toward the deck where the Captain of the minks, Nazier was distracting himself by playing a little diddy on his flute.

Behaziel listened to his poetic song realizing that it also detailed the journey they had made here.

"''Tis been many a moon, ''tis been many a day.

Since we left them southwest shores

Where our brethren held sway.

We crossed o'er the waves, We stole ourselves away

Made a vow, swore to sail

Wherever the wind does tell.

To escape the bloody battles of badgers strong,

We escaped in the night though abandoning our kin be wrong!

Followed the Roaringburn til the sea quieted down

Now we waste our days sitting here, we might as well drown!

Told o riches we were, promises of gold!

But now we die amid the birds, our souls to Hellsgates be sold!"

Behaziel climbed down the mast of the _Foxwolf_ before the mink continued with the next verse of the song, grabbing his flute and quickly snapping it in two. Nazier's eyes widened in shock as the rat Captain tossed it overboard and he snarled, "Say! What's the big idea!"

"Keep singin' like that and I'm sure Selah will see to it you see Hellsgates before the day is thru!" Behaziel snarled, shoving the mink in frustration.

The mink looked toward the waves of the Western Sea, swallowing a bit as he considered being tossed overboard and muttered, "I didn't mean nothin' by it Captain! You know I left the badger lands for me own health! But it would be better to die clashing swords with one of those creatures rather than out here with not a bite in me belly!"

Behaziel looked about and shoved Nazier again, snarling, "Did you learn nothing three days ago? We are so close to the new country that I can smell it." Nazier looked toward the horizon, clearly trying to hold back his excitement before remarking, "Do you really think so?"

"I could see it, by day we should be crashing into the sandy shores of this land that Selah promised," Behaziel explained. Nazier excitedly tried not to jump for joy and then he snarled, "Why don't we push the moles to reach the bay by tonight? Rip their backs to ribbons so that we can get a decent meal!"

Behaziel shook his head and remarked, "Ye can only push a slave so far."

Nazier stared at the rat Captain and tried his best to follow the orders, snarling something under his breath. The male rat glared at him and smacked him with the back of his rapier handle causing the mink to cry out in surprise. "What was that fer?" He asked.

"You should focus on getting some rest, Captain Nazier. Who knows for sure what the new country might bring," Behaziel advised and added, "And if Ye feel the need to sing again, make the diddy something upbeat. No beast wants to hear a song about Hellsgates."

Nazier went to below deck, not saying another word as Behaziel looked toward the sea and tried to convince himself to rest too. But there was too much to look forward to, he realized. And all of it will be ours at first light.

So he climbed up to the crow's Nest again and looked toward the horizon, focusing on keeping the sails taut and smiling in anticipation.

XXXXXXX

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the prayers of the _Foxwolf_ were answered and an autumn breeze gently pushed them straight on to the shore line. Now as the early dawn broke, the small vermin crew peered out toward the stretch of sand and rocks that seemed to span all of the horizon, whooping and Hollering in excitement as they crested the new land.

Using a spyglass, Captain Nazier looked up and down the beach, noting prime spots where their ship could berth and then saluted smartly as Selah Falsetooth came on deck to look at the mysterious region.

"Any signs of life or settlements?" The female weasel asked as she loomed over her motley crew. "Too early to tell. But I did spot several fresh water pools near the southern edge of them dunes there," Nazier said as he pointed toward the area.

"It would do the crew good to get fresh fish in their bellies," the mink added licking his lips hungrily.

Selah took the spyglass and looked for herself at the dunes and frowned, realizing that what her Captain had actually seen was marshland.

"You baffoon! That's toad land, we would be dead the minute we stepped foot in that sand. Your mind is so focused on vittles you ain't seeing the big picture," she snarled as she whacked him on the head roughly.

"Sorry milady," Nazier stammered as he rubbed his forehead and then asked, "Should we be gettin' the rows ready to push us into the shoreline?"

Selah sighed as she looked out toward the dunes and tried to figure out where best to berth their massive ship. Then in the distance near some rocky cliffs the weasel realized that she could see an inkling of smoke.

"Make the moles work overtime! Get us toward that smoke!" Selah ordered looking toward her mink Captain and snarling, "If you hadn't been so focused on your belly you would've seen that smoke! Where there's smoke there's a settlement!"

Nazier said nothing but hastened below deck grabbing one of the thicker reed whips to enforce the mole slaves even as Selah heard the cheers of her crew. The idea of raiding had already lifted their spirits, she thought as she smiled and showed her deadly fangs.

XXXXXXX

The _Foxwolf_ slaves towed down the vessel on rocks hitting the coast line as Selah and her three Captains moved toward the small encampment. Now that daylight covered the dunes they could make out several circles of stones and tents that made up what seemed to be a rather primitive tribe. All of them kept their weapons at the side as Selah took the lead and ordered the rat Captains to scout the area.

"Food!" Nazier squeaked in delight as he spotted an open fire and rushed to grab the steamed fish that was in the wash bowel, eagerly ripping into it.

"You idiot," Behaziel snarled but it was already too late, the mink's outburst had caused a stir of noise around the camp.

Soon Selah and her raiders realized that the noise was coming from all sides of them and from the edge of the camp strange painted vermin emerged.

All of them chanted in a strange and unearthly tongue as Selah kept herself toward the middle of her Captains and their raiders, waiting to see if these vermin were as brutal as they appeared to be.

The weapons they used also indicated a primitive lifestyle among the poorly clothed rats and stoats, and as they closed in on the crew; a low growl seemed to echo across the camp and they came to a halt.

The strange vermin parted and allowed a larger gruesome looking stoat to approach Selah and her crew. He was marked more dramatically than the others with long black stripes of charcoal being mussed against his once bright tawny fur and small orange dots painted on his nostril and eyes. From what Nazier could tell, this was clearly the chief of these unkempt creatures.

"We seen yer ship fer many a day now. Why did Ye come here to the land of Juska?" The stoat asked, his bad breath making the vermin crew near him rear back in repulsion.

Selah bowed her head recognizing his authority and remarked, "We are from far away and came seeking a new life, we meant no harm to you or to your tribe. Only that we be allowed to rest for a few days and regain our strength."

"Ye stole er fish, Juska Kall does not like et wen a vermin steals his fish!" The stoat snapped back.

"We did not know this land was yours, as you can see my crew has been famished for days! We humbly apologize," Selah Falsetooth explained bowing even lower to the ground.

"Ye wish to repay?" Juska Kall asked to which the vermin crew nodded eagerly and then the stoat laughed and said, "Meebe Ye can recover our treasures from the toads! Them twisted night reptiles be hoardin' Juska jewels. The honor of our tribe!"

The other tribe members seemed to laugh and sneer at this but Selah did not appear afraid by the challenge. Instead she offered, "Provide us two days to recover from our long voyage and we will use every resource available to reach your precious gems."

Juska Kall seemed to consider the offer, rubbing his chin before spitting on his paw and extending it to Selah. As the two shook he heartily decided, "Ye have yourselves a deal, weasel mistress. But mark Juska Kall's words if Ye tricks us there will be no escaping our wrath!"

The female weasel smiled and responded, "I am Selah Falsetooth, greatest weasel warlord there has ever been and believe me when I say that we will prove our worth to you."


	7. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

As he finished tying the last mooring line to the sharp rocks all along the beach, Guilin Curlclaw wiped sweat from his brow and squinted toward the rat Captain that was busy harassing his fellow moles.

"Vurmint! Why don't ye peeks a foght wit a beastie ye own size!" Guilin snarled out worried that the elderly moles might collapse soon out of exhaustion.

Reveret looked toward the younger mole as he finishing lashing at another and snapped back, "Shut yer snout stupid mole. I kin take ya on any ole day!"

"Koindly remove moi bonds and oi will show Ye a fight in' moler iffn er ever wus one," Guilin called back to the vermin even as his grandfather tugged at his arm.

"Guilin! Tis enuf! We bees all drown's in dat gulf iffn Ye Keep a yappin' like a fool," Muskee ordered gruffly.

Reveret sneered at the both of them preparing to give them both a severe lashing when one of the other vermin captains appeared from the nearby hill.

"Reveret! That's enough for now. Them stupid moles need to get their rest. We got more work fer em in the morning," the other rat told him. The younger one glared at Guilin, but listened to his superior and left toward the nearby vermin camp where his comrades were feasting.

The mole rubbed his belly as it aches wishing to go and steal a morsel from the camp but Guilin wasn't that big of a fool.

Turning his attention to his grandfather and the other moles who were chained to the mooring line alongside him and he lowered his snout apologetically.

"Surry grundpapi,sumtimes oi juz kan't keentrol moi spake," Guilin admitted as the other moles gathered around and all of them tried not to cry considering the predicament they were in.

It had been almost springtime when they had been in the southwest lands, and nearly all summer since they had even stepped foot on land. It was enough to make them all weary and depressed, especially when their numbers once were nearly sixty and as Guilin looked around he realized it had dropped to nearly half that size.

"Vurmints they will keel us all iffn they have their way," Muskee muttered as he patted his grandmole's shoulder gently, reassuring him that they all understood his frustration.

Guilin could hardly even remember the peaceful seasons before the raiders had attacked, he had been just past a dibbun when the marauding vermin came to the southwest shore. Now, having spent seasons as a slave he was beginning to wonder if he would ever see freedom again.

"Nowday tellin' about Murr werk? And ders murr vurmin than ever," Syltee, a young female mole worried.

"We gots to do sumtin' grundpapi, But wot ken we do?" Guilin asked as the small group of moles huddled together, trying to hold onto what little hope they had left.

"We gots to lookin' at de pussiteve. We backs on dry lernd and dat is sumtin oi nose oi thankee fer," Muskee commented as he smelled the fresh autumn air.

"An' iffn them villyans er takin' uss'n further from dis ship, merbe we moight herve a chance at erscap," Syltee realized and a few of the other moles nodded in excitement.

"We gunna herve tabee kurfel, iffn we mess'r up them vurmin..." Muskee began worriedly as he tried not to think of his dear departed wife.

"Dunnit woree grundpapi, we molers are smurtee then them givin' uss'n credit fer," Guilin told his family member as they hugged for a brief moment.

Night had fallen over the dunes as they all warmed themselves near a small bonfire that Guilin had made with a few stray pieces of driftwood, and he smelled the salty air of the ocean one last time certain that tomorrow he would able to find a way out of this mess.

XXXXXXX

When the new day did come, Behaziel was the one to rouse them from their sleep; yanking Guilin up by his shirt collar he announced, "Look alive mole! We're movin' out to the south dunes!"

Curlclaw gently rubbed his sore muscles as he watched the other vermin raiders unhook the chain they were strapped to from the _Foxwolf_ and then pass the main buckle to Captain Nazier who was busy picking the last bit of trout from his sharp teeth.

The sight of food alone gave the mole a reason to press onward in the murky sands, following their vermin captors toward a narrow stretch of dunes that seemed to be the southern edge of this beach.

As Guilin occasionally glanced toward the foothills in the northeast he realized the procession was being watched by Selah herself along with a large group of uncivilized vermin. Then gain I don't know if I have ever met a civil vermin, the mole thought with a soft smile.

Whatever task they have us doing must be for their new allies, Guilin reasoned. Which means if things go bad maybe the vermin will also turn on each other. It was a thrilling prospect to be sure, but for now they all marched obediently over the dunes.

As he expected the sands ended and transformed into a marshy stretch of mud and tall grass filled with all shorts of slopes and decaying trees. Behaziel paused at the edge of the dunes and muttered, "All right, you moles say you do best in these filthy holes so let's see if what ye be talkin' bout is true. They've got jewels buried all about this mess, so get your claws to diggin'."

Guilin looked toward the thick mud, an idea forming in his head as he said, "Beggin' yer purdon Cap'n, But des hurr chains be offul hard te dig in. Ken we moorbe get a liddle slack? Wud make de diggin' a houl lot ferster."

Behaziel stared at the mole for a long moment as though he were insane and snarled, "Ye take me for a fool? I know you would try to escape!"

Guilin thought quickly and replied, "Onest Cap'n, we be fine diggurs but de mud be slowerin' us dewn. Ye could watch as we dug, maken sur we didn't runoff or ernethin."

The rat Captain seemed to consider it for a moment, looking back to where Selah and the others were now busy quarreling over something else and nodded reluctantly.

"Ye best be tellin' the truth mole. I won't hesitate to cut Ye te ribbons!" Behaziel said as he began to undo the chains.

His fellow moles looked to see what Guilin might do for now but all the young mole did was salute smartly to the Captain and trudge toward the marshlands.

He knew that if they really wanted to make it away from this alive he would need to get a lay of the land first, which meant pretending to do the hard labor while searching every corner of the marsh for an exit strategy.

The other moles followed him toward the grimy mud and watched as he began to dig causing Syltee to whisper, "Wut be de plan, Guilin?"

He scooted close to her and whispered back, "Werkn a few howurs and when de vurmin guard is down, we'izzn erscapin!"

She nodded before the rat Captain had saw them talking and began to dig about in the mud, pretending to search for the treasure the vermin sought and listening to the strange sounds of the marsh.

Syltee was not dumb, she knew the real reason the vermin had sent them to the pit was to avoid the risk of running into roads who were notorious for living amongst the muck. But one thing she didn't think the vermin realized was most toadies slept during the day, meaning the chances of their escape could be even higher. Softly humming to herself the female mole followed the others thru the wetlands, certain their freedom was just over the next bend.

XXXXXX

As the midday sun caused all of the moles to break a sweat in the swampy grass, Guilin had spotted at least seven sleeping toads that were watching them from the edge of the mud, too exhausted from their nocturnal activities to Bother the moles, Guilin also made certain to keep the mole team digging in the central swamp.

Although he was sure the treasure that the vermin wanted was likely sitting right underneath the toadies, he really didn't have any concern for it. Over the past hour his eyes had been fixed on a sloping group of cliffs that ended the swamp in the northeast. If we have a chance to run, that will be the spot, he realized.

But after they had finished lunch, and making certain to double the raiders that watched them dig, Guilin was certain the chance was coming soon as the vermin tended to get a bit sleepy during the afternoon hours.

Just as the toadies started to stir and move about the mud, Perhaps considering the moles to now be a threat Guilin decided it was now or never.

"Cummon molers!" He shouted as he raised up a rock that was in a nearby pile of mud and hurled it straight toward the toad. Luckily the creature had no clue where the object had come from and instead had thought one of the vermin watchers was the thrower.

As the vermin heard him making a ruckus they took out their weapons and were about to enter the muddy grass themselves when more toads crept out from the swamp, all angrily bloating their faces as they protected their homeland.

The moles wasted no time taking advantage of the distraction and followed Guilin toward the cliff.

From what he had observed the cliff was made of soft red dirt, perfect for mole claws and as he dug into it he found that he was correct.

His grundpapi stood alongside him constantly looking back toward the vermin who nervously were shooing the toadies away.

As the dirt fell away and provided them an exit, Guilin began to feel his spirits lift. And then a cry of pain came from Maskee and he turned to see an arrow had run thru his leg.

"Dunnit stop diggin Guilin! Get yur fat butt outter here afore they commin!" his grundpapi shouted as the young mole realized he had to make an impossible choice.

Quickly he pushed forward in the tunnel and then turned to his grundpapi to say goodbye. The two shed tears as Guilin collapsed the front of the tunnel, encasing the other moles inside the dank cave.

There was no time for sorrow he knew as he rushed toward the frontline and kept digging even as he heard angry vermin trying to get thru the collapse.

He didn't remember how long he dug, and he didn't remember how far they went. But finally they found more soft topsoil and the moles turned their claws upward to work on getting to fresh air again.

Guilin led the way into a grassy pasture, at least several hours away from the vermin and for the first time he smelt freedom.

For a long moment Guilin closed his eyes and remembered his grundpapi, the memory of all the other moles who had longed for this moment and he made a promise.

For as long as I am free I will treasure their dream, and stop the vermin from taking that same freedom away from any beast.


	8. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII**

Ten of Juska Kall's tribe and three vermin had been killed over the course of the few hours since the moles had agitated the roads that fiercely protected their marsh. Now as sunset crossed over the boundaries of the nearby mountains, Selah knew that more of the amphibians would be coming out to join the fight.

She had been gritting her teeth so hard that her false snake fangs had caused her lips to bleed, and still they had been unable to break thru the collapsed tunnel where the moles escaped or defeat the roads.

Worse still the weasel could see that Juska Kall's patience was wearing thin and she wondered if the feral stoat might turn on her and her raiders at any time.

"Fall back!" she finally ordered as the vermin raiders vainly tried to sling more stones at the toads. Even Juska's warriors didn't argue with the order as they ran toward the safety of the dunes.

The frogs didn't bother following, having won the battle they bellowed and made other loud noises in the night as the vermin found safety amid the shoreline.

"Ye lied ta Juska Kall, weasel mistress. Not a jewel been found and now some of me best ravagers are toad feed!" The stoat in charge of the feral vermin snarled angrily.

"All is not lost yet, my new companion. Calm yourself and provide me the chance to prove that what I told you is going to occur!" Selah told The stoat even as other natives circled them seeking vengeance on her raiders.

"I'm not likin' the way this is turnin' out at all..." Nazier muttered nervously even as the tribe drew their weapons ready to do battle.

"My Seer can tell us the next move to make! We can make this work to our benefit I am sure of it!" Selah told them.

Juska Kall held up his paw to draw back his ravagers and then cocked his head to one side as he looked at Selah. "Ye say Ye has a Seer? Why did ya hide this from Juska Kall?" He asked suspiciously.

"There was no need to mention it until now. The Seer has seen our future he brought us to you, and now he can help us to recover your jewels," Selah Falsetooth explained calmly, smiling with her dangerous fangs to show she was pleased.

"Very well, bring this Seer of yours to our camp. We will see if his prophecies are true as Ye say," Juska Kall commented as he gestured for the ravagers to follow back toward his camp.

The female weasel in charge of the raiders snatched up Nazier by his collar and snarled, "Get Vargas out here on the double!"

Tossing the mink into the sand, Selah followed the tribal vermin toward their camp to feee her hunger and appease the temperament of Juska Kall.

Nazier got up and dusted off his clothes looking toward the two rat Captains that were sneering at him as he walked back toward the Foxwolf.

"Sick and tired of bein' treated like scat," the mink said spitting toward the vermin camp as he hurried to the plank that led toward the main ship.

It was almost eerie to stand on the Foxwolf and peer toward the dark sea alone, not another vermin stirred on deck.

Making his way to the inner chambers, he unlocked the ferret's caged room and looked at the mangy Seer. What if he took us here based on some Mad dream? Nazier didn't want to doubt the words of their prophet, but now they had already experienced losses.

Finally the crazed ferret seemed to notice his arrival and looked up before commenting, "We have stopped sailing."

"Aye Ye ugly bloater. We made it to the coast! En now all our molers are goned! They escaped into the forests! No thanks to you!" The mink snapped.

"You wish to point blame? Look no further than our leader, who tore her family aside just to bring us out here to die," Vargas snarled.

Nazier looked at the crazed Seer, uncertain what he meant by that and muttered, "Ye sayin' Selah is lying to us?"

Vargas seemed to have a moment of clarity before commenting, "Why did you come here?"

"Falsetooth sent me, we gots new allies from a shore line of vermin. Led be a feller names himself Juska, almost as nutty as you," the mink said.

The ferret stood up and hobbled toward the door, gesturing toward the bonds that shackled him.

"I ain't a fool, Ye tryin' to escape just like them moles!" Nazier laughed. He grabbed the chain instead to lead the Seer out.

"There will come a day where you wished you had freed me when you had the chance," Vargas snarled back.

The mink said nothing and instead yanked on the chain to pull the ferret back up deck and toward the sandy shores. It worried him more and more that the Seer might have told him the truth about Selah leading them to disaster.

Should I even tell the others? Or would they even believe me? He didn't want to wind up as gull food like his former crew mates. Nazier decided for now to say nothing. But if things keep going bad, I will turn my tail and follow those moles, he thought.

They were half way to Juska's camp when a familiar face appeared in the darkness. Nazier tried not to show his fear of the wicked weasel as her fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

"Ah Vargas my faithful Seer. Again your words are needed to soothe the doubters," Selah snarled.

"I knew you would need my advise once more," Vargas replied as the two seemed to look at each other with vicious glares.

Selah glanced at the mink who still stood nearby, growling, "Get to the camp! By the morning I expect that thick skull of yours to be rested. We will be hunting those moles." Nazier saluted smartly and ran off, leaving the two older vermin to talk alone.

"You have failed me, Mad Seer. Our slaves escaped and our new allies are close to butchering us! How do you care to explain yourself?" Selah Falsetooth asked angrily.

"There were words in my visions that you did not care to hear, or forgot to heed," Vargas answered.

Neither said a word for a moment and then the weasel grabbed her servant by the neck and placed her fangs precariously near his neck. "You will share only what I need you to! The other parts of your visions will never come to pass! Now speak to me those words!" Selah said.

"You have led us to a land filled with treasures, this much has already come to pass. But you have not made any allies, not the ones I foresaw," Vargas replied with a mocking tone.

"Have you lost your head? Juska Kall's tribe is over a hundred strong! More than enough for us to take on any enemy," Selah stated.

"Again you ignore my prophecies! Is this to be your legacy, Falsetooth? Of running away?" Vargas snapped back.

The weasel frowned and remembered how the ferret had said she would make an arrangement with the creatures of the night... could it be that the Mad Seer was talking about the toads?

She fell silent as she led him into the camp where the feral vermin all eagerly awaited his words, and Juska Kall began to chant a tribal dirge.

"Listen Ye ta the visions of future days,

And ev'rthin' this Seer has to says.

We ask now the blessin' of the sacred stones,

And with this incantation; we set the tone!

Juska, Juska, Juska, Juska, forever and ever we remain."

The group fell silent as he lit a torch and then held it close to the crazed eyes of the ferret, waiting for him to speak.

"The tribe of Juska, strong and fierce will always be.

For their future I did see.

Their leader will live on forever,

His name etched in their history.

This weasel mistress that you do not trust,

Will keep you alive and always be just.

Follow the Falsetooth and take on the toadies,

And you will find your immortality."

Juska Kall stared at the ferret for another long moment and cackled madly as he went to dance with his tribe, satisfied for now with the prophecy.

"Tell me now you Mad Seer, what do your words mean?" Selah asked snatching the ferret aside as the stairs and rats danced about the flames.

"Return to the toads and you will find your answers, they will guide you to the great island that you seek, to the sacred stone of shadow," Vargas answered.

"Then when dawn comes a squadron of raiders will be at my side, and we will feed Juska Kall to these toads, and make them our slaves," Selah Falsetooth decided. The chanting of the tribal chief continued into the night, even as the weasel began to plot the stoat's downfall.


End file.
